


versus umbrella

by norio



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:52:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6588385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norio/pseuds/norio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Top of the eighth. The score was 3-2 in favor of Fukurodani, but the cats were at the top of their game. With Nekoma’s fierce fielding, Fukurodani’s players were getting stranded on second or third.</p>
            </blockquote>





	versus umbrella

**Author's Note:**

> Everything I know about baseball comes from Oofuri or Diamond no Ace, so forgive me.
> 
> Also, I think Akaashi's VA voices the main character from DnA. He says hey hey hey in an episode. It was very cute.

“Keep calm.”

“I am calm!”

Bokuto wasn’t calm. 

Akaashi wasn’t calm either. Top of the eighth. The score was 3-2 in favor of Fukurodani, but the damned cats were at the top of their game. With Nekoma’s fierce fielding, Fukurodani’s players were getting stranded on second or third. 

Kuroo’s pitching had warmed up, too. The knuckleballs, much like the pitcher, drifted in front of their eyes. They all landed annoyingly in Kenma’s mitt. Akaashi had been fortunate enough to get a meatball early in the game, but it wouldn’t be a repeated fluke. At least his teammates could hit the ball. Fukurodani was an aggressive batting team, after all, and they’d seen all types of pitches. The problem was the connected fielding. Nekoma could scoop up the ball and throw it back to base without batting an eye. 

Out of Fukurodani’s lineup, Bokuto was the only one hitting Kuroo’s pitches consistently. He’d even hit a homerun and he’d been aggressive about stealing. Their teammates surely felt like something would happen if they just got on base and let Bokuto bat behind them. But he almost would have preferred for Bokuto to have one of his bad batting days because running around had taken a toll on his vast stamina. 

Nekoma was battling with fouls. They knew that Bokuto had typically boundless energy, but their play style was simple and consistent. Wear down the enemy. Between batting, running, stealing, and pitching, Bokuto was breathing hard and sweating. Akaashi had made him sit in the back of the dugout, brought him a fresh undershirt, and forced a cup of water on him. He didn’t complain much, which worried him. Bokuto usually insisted on watching the other batters and cheering for them the loudest. For him to concede to Akaashi, he must have recognized his energy drain.

Two outs. Runner on first. Momentum in Nekoma’s favor. 

In previous practice matches, Inuoka had been the leadoff hitter. He certainly had speed. Akaashi hadn’t understood why they switched with yet another first-year until he’d seen Lev bat. Bokuto had the sheer strength to send the ball flying with a tap. Lev had the sheer flexibility to follow through and tap a ball. He might have slightly slower than Inuoka, but he had raw intuition for hitting. In short, he was an annoying player to have hanging around first base.

And speaking of annoying players, Kenma was up to bat. He would almost certainly bunt, as per his record, but he’d likely go for the hit if Bokuto’s control slipped. And Kenma wasn’t going to be easy to strike out. The next best situation would be to tag Lev out, since Kenma wasn’t actually fast. The most likely scenario that played in their favor would be getting Kenma out and hoping Lev only made it to second.

“I don’t need another time out,” Bokuto snapped. “I’m doing fine.” He breathed heavily, sweat dripping down his face. Too late, he remembered to hide his mouth with his mitt. Akaashi knew Nekoma was watching, and he didn’t care. Bokuto’s fatigue was obvious. His bravado might even convince the slower members of Nekoma that Fukurodani’s ace was doing fine. 

“Just pitch to my mitt. Don’t think about anything else.” 

“I got it already!” Bokuto turned away, his version of closing the door on the pitcher’s mound. Akaashi walked away, catching Bokuto glancing at Lev on first base. Not good. Bokuto had good reason to be wary about Lev, but he didn’t want Bokuto to be thinking about it. And the infielders were being too quiet. They were too focused on their own plays. And worst of all, Kenma was ready. 

“Ah,” Kenma murmured, “It seems that Bokuto has been favoring his fastballs lately.” 

He hated catching for catchers. For some reason, they always had wily minds. 

“Has he,” Akaashi said politely, “Well, he is a capricious individual.” 

Kenma glanced at him, and then took his stance. He was hanging over the plate, too inside for Akaashi to be comfortable. Bokuto didn’t like it either, judging by his transparent expression. Akaashi really hated catching for catchers. The umpire called for the play to start.

Never mind. He signaled a pickoff for Bokuto to loosen his shoulder and get Lev out of his mind. If he knew Akaashi was looking at Lev, Bokuto would concentrate on the batter. Lev dove back to base safely, but it was closer than Akaashi would have imagined. 

“Lev!” someone yelled from the Nekoma dugout. “What did I tell you about leading!” 

Kenma was trying to play mind games with him, but Bokuto looked too worn out to control his breaking balls. He’d have to hope Kenma would pop it up. High, inside, two-seam fastball. Bokuto nodded. 

Bokuto had sheer talent as a batter, but he was also an excellent pitcher. He was flexible and had a lot of power, even throwing from the stretch. But even before he released the ball, Akaashi knew it was off. He adjusted his stance and caught the ball. Kenma hadn’t moved.

“Ball!” 

Bokuto stomped on the ground, teeth gritted. The crowd cheered. Why wasn’t the infield saying anything? They knew Bokuto was the type of ace who needed encouragement. But it was also an important match, and Lev had scored a run on them before. He supposed he could understand why they’d forgotten. 

“Good pitch,” Akaashi called, tossing the ball back to him. “Keep it up.” The ball had been high, but too far outside. Kenma’s little hovering inside trick had apparently flustered Bokuto. Then again, Bokuto’s control always had been the first to falter as the match wore on.

“A ball, huh.” Kenma didn’t look at him, steadying his bat again. Kenma clearly knew Akaashi hadn’t been calling for a ball. Why did no team have a simple-minded powerhouse catcher? Someone who just batted well and relied on their talented and smart pitcher? Then again, he did faintly hear about someone called Ushijima. Never mind. He had to switch gears.

If Bokuto couldn’t get inside, then fine. They had other options. High, outside, two-seam. Bokuto shook his head. He didn’t want another ball, though Akaashi felt it was fine to risk it. High, inside, two-seam. Another shake. Not enough control, perhaps. Or maybe Bokuto was just aiming for a middle fastball to try and catch it when it flew back to the pitcher. Now that he was looking at Bokuto’s daring grin, it seemed the likely reason for his refusals. What an idiot. Akaashi played with risk, but not that much risk. He was firm. High, outside, two-seam. 

Bokuto frowned petulantly and finally nodded.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Kenma predicted something like their pitch. Akaashi had already shown their hand a little too cleanly when Bokuto threw the high and outside. He could only play it off as an intentional move, and not let Nekoma know that Bokuto’s control was fading. 

The ball came barreling down at them. Kenma didn’t move, and Akaashi caught it. The sound was good on his mitt. Perhaps an 80 mph fastball. He could feel the sting on the palm of his hand.

“Ball!” The crowd piped up again. Bokuto banged his fist against his knee. Not good. Akaashi didn’t want to walk Kenma, but even more than that, he didn’t want Bokuto to get frustrated. They still had another inning to play. Besides, the ball actually did have better control than his first pitch. Another umpire might have called it in. 

“Nice pitch,” Akaashi said, “Good strength.” 

Kenma glanced at him. Akaashi settled back into his position. 

“That’s the way!” Lev called out from first base. “Intimidate them, Kenma!” 

If Lev thought his calls would cheer Kenma up, he was wrong. Kenma seemed to get more annoyed. Either way, Kenma calm or riled up, their strategy wasn’t working. Akaashi really would have liked a high and inside. He would have to work with what he had. He signaled for a changeup. 

Bokuto gave a mix between a nod and a shake.

He scratched off his earlier statement about how he hated catching for catchers. At that moment, catching for pitchers was worse. He gave the signal again with a little more force. Changeup. Even with bad control, Bokuto could get those into the zone. Kenma had watched through two fastballs. Even if he did suspect a changeup, he wouldn’t swing well through it. Kenma was intelligent, but like Akaashi, he didn’t have power on his own. Besides, even if Kenma only seemed annoyed at Lev, he would certainly hold some grudge against Akaashi hitting off Kuroo’s earlier pitch. Kenma seemed too calm to let the grudge play out, but Akaashi hoped it would sting enough to deter his judgment. 

Bokuto slowly nodded. He drew back and threw the ball. Kenma was absolutely going to hit the ball. The slower speed allowed Kenma to follow the trajectory more closely. But as Akaashi had hoped, Kenma had been focused on the fastballs, especially since Bokuto hadn’t been throwing many changeups or breaking balls for Shibayama, Fukunaga, and Lev that inning. 

Kenma bunted the ball, and it hit the ground. 

“Komi!” Bokuto yelled. Bokuto was already running for third. Lev sprinted for second.

“First!” Akaashi called out. They wouldn’t have enough time for Lev. The ball bounced past Komi’s mitt and Akaashi gritted his teeth. By the time Komi fumbled and threw it to Saru, it was too late. Even slow Kenma had ran through first base, looking faintly annoyed that he’d actually have to run for the rest of the inning. 

“Safe!” The crowd roared behind them. He could hear the brass band playing and horns clattering. 

It was the second mistake from the infielders. The first had resulted in Lev taking first base. The pressure must have been mounting for them. On the field, being a second year didn’t matter. But this was something better handled by their actual captain, and not acting captain but actually vice-captain. 

“Sorry,” Komi said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Sorry, I should have had it.” It had been an odd bounce, but if it happened earlier in the inning, he might have gotten it. But by now, they had gone through five innings without a single run off Nekoma’s defense. For a heavy hitting team, it was stressful. 

“It was a bad bounce!” Bokuto yelled, “I was there, I definitely saw it! It spiraled out of control! It was flying towards the stands when you heroically caught it. It was completely my fault, so forget about it!” 

It definitely didn’t spiral, but Akaashi smiled anyway. Komi gave a weak smile, too. 

“Well, well, well.” Kuroo spun his bat. “Who’d have thought.” 

Akaashi looked at Kuroo.

“Time,” he called, and the umpire raised his hands. 

“Hey,” Kuroo said, but Akaashi was already walking to the mound. Bokuto was wiping his forehead, looking a little worse. Maybe he did blame himself for not being able to throw inside, but his pitch count could have been over 100 by the way Nekoma was fouling. They had done some fake bunting earlier too, sending Bokuto running up and halting when they fouled it instead. 

Two outs. Runners on first and second. Pain-in-the-ass three-hole in the batter’s box. 

Kuroo had the best batting average from Nekoma’s team. They absolutely couldn’t walk him because Kai, the cleanup, followed. Not to mention the RBI guys that followed him in turn. Taketora in particular was hungry for a hit, no matter what kind. Kai may have done strategic fouls, but Taketora just wanted to swing his bat. 

“Hey, Akaashi.” Bokuto breathed heavily, hands on his hips. He didn’t seem to be doing well under the heat. Akaashi held up his mitt to Bokuto’s mouth. 

“Yes, Bokuto-san.” 

“I want to go to Koshien.” Bokuto closed his eyes. “I’ll take you there, Akaashi.” 

The smell of freshly hewn grass. The chattering and calls from the full stands. The hot sun and bright blue sky. The dirt crunching beneath his feet. The wrecked pitcher in front of him, sweating and swaying. This was high school baseball. 

He could remember their practices. Catching for Bokuto always ran late into the night, even when the other members had left to sleep. Over and over again, Bokuto would practice. Sometimes he would just practice with the towel, other times he would run, and sometimes he’d bat. Akaashi accompanied him.

It hadn’t been so difficult in middle school. The pitcher had been fairly calm. They hadn’t been close, but they formed a good enough battery. Akaashi considered it fortunate to join a powerhouse school and get a starter position when his power was still lacking. His compatibility with Bokuto played a large role. The other potential catchers couldn’t handle his personality, switching between gregarious to despondent. He had strange quirks, like forgetting how to throw fastballs in the middle of the tournament. Even beyond getting physically stronger, Akaashi needed to grow calluses on his mental fortitude as well. 

Bokuto was annoying. He needed cheering up when anything went wrong. If the infielders, and some louder outfielders, didn’t praise him, his performance would often worsen. In bad situations, even Akaashi had to join in reluctantly and boost Bokuto’s ego, suffering through Bokuto’s bragging for days afterwards. But Bokuto had talent, strength, and flexibility to be one of the nation’s best pitchers. And he loved baseball. That was the only way Akaashi could describe it. He practiced when it was hot and when it was cold. He practiced harder and later than anybody on the team. Dealing with Bokuto, of course, meant taking things as they came. It was similar to Bokuto’s pitching, which came in strong, fast, and unpredictably. Akaashi had to adapt quickly and read his pitching poses more precisely. He took the same measures outside the field. If the manager told Bokuto that people were really excited about his pitches, Bokuto would get revved up for the match. Then again, the statement was true. 

He’d remember one night when he was running. His throws had been slow that scrimmage and they had lost. It wasn’t directly because of his throws, but he sensed a correlation. He needed to build power. He’d taken to the field frustrated and ended up running himself to exhaustion, collapsing flat on the grass. The night sky had been open above him, stars glittering over the baseball field nets. He heard someone approaching him, and saw Bokuto standing over him. He braced himself for another round of pleading for practice, but Bokuto only sat down beside him, towel in his hand from practice. 

They sat and looked at the stars. 

They were in the field, now, and a game away from nationals. If Nekoma tied, they could turn the game around in the next innings. They were that sort of team. He could see where Fukurodani’s cheering squad sat in the bleachers, decked in their school colors. A song was playing through the air. 

“Do you know what makes a great ace, Akaashi?” Bokuto pulled down on his wrist to grin at him.

“Not really.”

“Me neither.” Bokuto slapped him on the back. “Let’s win this, Akaashi.” 

He supposed Fukurodani had an unsteady ace. When Bokuto was down, they would all cheer him up and play their best until he got back on his feet. Akaashi surveyed the silent infielders with their heads down and hands on their knees. They were tired of not getting hits off Kuroo’s knuckleballs and getting caught by Nekoma’s fielders. They felt the pressure and stress. He couldn’t blame them. He turned to walk back to the mound. 

“TWO OUTS.” 

With Bokuto’s voice, his shout could easily reach the outfielders. Akaashi returned to his position, watching as the infielders slowly perk up. Their tired faces were finally smiling again, slow and beleaguered, but present nevertheless. Bokuto stood in the middle of the mound, raised hand in the two outs signal. He cut a clean figure, standing straight and tall with the bold 1 on his back. His characteristic dark blue sleeves stood out against his uniform. 

“You’re too loud, Bokuto!” 

“Two outs!” 

“They’ll hear you from outer space!” 

“Two outs!” 

“Two outs!” 

“Your voice is all hoarse!” 

The crowd cheered, surging forward. The clattering din was enormous. Bokuto turned to the batter’s box, grinning widely and looking horrible. He was still sweating and panting, and he looked like he had already pitched an entire game. Akaashi wondered if he had any semblance of control anymore, but he smiled behind his catcher’s mask. Kuroo whistled softly, adjusting his grip on his bat.

“Sca-a-ry,” Kuroo murmured, grinning. Akaashi adjusted his mask. The umpire started the play. 

Kuroo. A ridiculously calm guy in this situation. He was also an aggressive hitter, but not reckless. His long grasp meant that he could and had hit Bokuto’s breaking balls. The pitcher of a team who used small plays to their advantage. Fukurodani had the lead, but the momentum had long since swayed to Nekoma. Fukurodani’s movements weren’t as crisp, though Bokuto might have pumped some adrenaline through them. As long as Bokuto felt the team was behind him, then that was more important. 

There were a few possible situations. Kuroo had a loose grip on the bat, which meant he could likely bunt on a whim. Akaashi had seen games where Kuroo abruptly switched from hitting wide to bunting accurately. He could also pull the ball or try for a homerun. The homerun was the worst possible situation. A sacrifice bunt was the second worst because Lev was unmistakably fast and sneaky. Akaashi was a good catcher, especially since he had to deal with Bokuto’s wild pitches, but Lev could stretch his arms and legs to touch the base before he could tag him out if Akaashi couldn’t get the ball ready in time. Lev being on second was definitely a pressure move. Even with Bokuto throwing from the stretch, Lev would steal on any chance. He had to get ready to throw to third. 

The third situation, looking likely, was Kuroo would start hitting fouls. Kuroo wasn’t exactly hitting fouls strategically. In fact, he seemed frustrated that he was hitting the pitches so late. But Akaashi didn’t want to drag on the pitch count. 

Reluctantly, he asked for a high, outside, four-seam. He wanted to test Kuroo and see if he would react. Unlike Kenma, he didn’t have astounding sensitivity to outside balls. He might not swing anyway, but if he tried, at least Akaashi could try to work out if he was going for a bunt. 

Bokuto shook his head. 

Akaashi frowned. He tried high and inside. That would hopefully produce a strike or at least a pop fly. Bokuto shook his head again. He was chasing after a breaking ball or changeup, but he had a difficult time controlling his inside pitches. Even with his speed, the loose breaking ball would be an invitation for Kuroo to hit a homerun. Besides, Kuroo wasn’t so calm about losing a homerun to Bokuto. He surely wanted something in return. 

He tried again. High, outside, four-seam. Bokuto grimaced. Akaashi opened his arms wide and positioned the mitt to where he wanted the pitch. If Bokuto would pitch this one, then Akaashi would ask for something trickier for the next pitch. The deal seemed to satisfy Bokuto, who nodded. It wasn’t that Bokuto was particularly smart or dumb. For the most part, he didn’t argue with Akaashi’s pitches. But sometimes he got bad ideas in his head, like trying to catch a ball hurtling towards his face when he was already weak and tired. And sometimes he had stubborn ideas, like throwing a breaking ball with an unsteady grip. Akaashi would take the gamble on the latter. If they argued anymore about it, Bokuto could turn uncooperative. It was hard enough to catch his pitches when they were controlled. It’d take everything he had to catch Bokuto’s unhappy pitches.

Bokuto pulled back for the pitch. He snapped the ball forward, and it hurtled fast towards the batter’s box. Akaashi had to stretch to catch it, and it smacked sharply against his mitt.

“Ball!” 

“Oya oya,” Kuroo said, adjusting his helmet, “I’ll have to be careful.” Lev jogged back to second.

“Nice pitch,” Akaashi said, tossing the ball back. His hand stung. That ball definitely had more speed than the last, and even less control. Perhaps it had even gone 90 mph. Bokuto didn’t look like he wanted to risk a dead ball, but Akaashi thought that with such speed, it’d be worth a try to throw a crisp inside ball. But a bargain was a bargain. 

Changeup, then. Bokuto shook his head. Curveball. Bokuto shook his head. Akaashi gritted his teeth. This guy obviously didn’t know the limits of his arm. If Akaashi had been confident he could throw breaking balls or hard changeups, he’d have called for them long ago. He finally settled on a slider, his least favorite choice, and Bokuto’s face lit up. Akaashi didn’t hate catching for catchers. It could never compare to catching for pitchers. 

He hit his mitt and took his stance. He put out his mitt vaguely where he wanted it, but he tensed, ready to move. If Bokuto threw wild, he’d have to make sure it didn’t roll behind him. Bokuto nodded, not so much at the signal, but an almost apologetic one. It was his way of saying he wouldn’t be so stubborn for a pitch again. It was annoying, but it hadn’t happened for any of the games in the tournament. Akaashi could begrudgingly make way for a pitcher showdown. 

Bokuto threw the ball with his characteristic snap. Kuroo swung his bat in a perfect arch. The slider ducked under the bat and sailed into Akaashi’s mitt. Even Akaashi was stunned. There was no way Bokuto could have predicted the trajectory so accurately. 

“Strike!” 

Bokuto roared on the mound. 

“Way to go, Bokuto!” 

“That’s our ace!” 

“Don’t mind it,” Lev yelled, already back at second, “You can do it! Hit a homerun!” 

When Inuoka had cheered for their team, his teammates always seemed amused and accepting. When Lev cheered, Kuroo’s face twitched into a painful wry smile. Akaashi could almost see Lev’s spectacular first few whiffs early in the game. 

“Looks like I’ve got to be careful,” Kuroo said, taking his stance again. Bokuto rested with his hands on his knees while Kuroo was getting ready. Akaashi didn’t like the situation, but he threw the ball back. Belatedly, he realized he had fallen into the same trap as his teammates. He’d fallen too silent in thinking. But Bokuto didn’t seem bothered like usual that Akaashi didn’t compliment him. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked at him, fierce concentration in his eyes.

He wanted to let Bokuto get comfortable. His pitches were still good, but he was clearly tired. High, inside, four-seam fastball. He doubted speed alone could deter Kuroo, but he had to try. One ball, one strike. Good time to try. 

Bokuto threw the ball. It flew towards them. Kuroo adjusted his stance, sliding his grip on the bat. He only just missed the ball, and Akaashi had to scramble to catch it. He arched back to throw to third, but it was too late. Lev was already there. 

“Strike!” 

One ball, two strikes. Runners on first and third. They theoretically had Kuroo cornered, but Akaashi felt like the tables had turned on him instead. Kuroo was good at bunting, just like Kenma. Even though they were putting the pressure on Kuroo, he was smiling and adjusting his helmet. Akaashi knew Lev stealing third was inevitable, but some part of him had hoped he could stop it. He had underestimated Kuroo, who already had a good grasp of its timing. If they threw it again, he would hit it. 

“Akaashi!” Bokuto shouted from the mound. “That was my fault! Completely my fault! Don’t worry about it!” 

He hadn’t realized he’d been so silent that he needed consolation from Bokuto. Akaashi threw the ball back with ferocity, and Bokuto made a displeased face at the silent reprimand. Akaashi breathed in, and then out. It was disgraceful to be the type of catcher who needed help from a temperamental pitcher.

“I wonder what pitch I’ll get this time,” Kuroo said, swinging his bat around. Annoying, pain-in-the-ass Kuroo. They had managed to sneak a breaking ball by Kuroo, who probably didn’t expect it from the tired Bokuto. They wouldn’t get away with it so easily again. Kuroo was going to hit whatever Bokuto threw. They just had to hope he’d jam the ball. 

The best choice would be a four-seam fastball. Bokuto’s speed hadn’t slowed down. He should take advantage of the momentum. 

“We’ll catch it! Just throw the best you got!” 

“I’ve been standing around all day, get a ball over here already.”

“Stop hogging all the glory, Bokuto!” 

The best choice would be a four-seam fastball. It was the eighth inning. The pitcher wouldn’t be able to throw a difficult changeup. But Bokuto looked at him with a daring grin. Akaashi hated catching for pitchers. 

He signaled for a cutter. 

Even Akaashi wanted to play aggressively, believing in Bokuto's pitches.

Bokuto leaned back for the pitch. Akaashi steadied himself, prepared to run after any wild balls. Bokuto pitched and the ball sliced through the air.

Kuroo slipped his hands on the bat again, this time for a bunt. He was a ridiculously flexible guy. If it had been a regular fastball, he would have gotten a clean hit. But with speed and precision, like it had been thrown fresh from the first inning, the cutter dove away. Kuroo, true to his form, still managed to tap it, but the ball drove to the ground. 

Lev was hurtling towards him, a ferocious mass. But Bokuto didn’t lose in speed, and he had already sprinted from the mound. With a quick scoop, he tossed it to Akaashi’s mitt with the same drive and force he pitched. Akaashi stretched and shoved the ball at Lev. The cloud of dust choked down his throat. 

“Out!” 

Loud cheering rose from the crowd. They were shouting Bokuto’s name. Akaashi stood up and gripped his fists in a silent fist pump. Bokuto was yelling, roaring out victorious. Three outs, no runs, even against the captain of the team. He smiled at the signboard, which now displayed the 0 from the inning. The fielders were running towards them. Bokuto also jogged towards Akaashi, uniform dirtier from the slide, and slung an arm around his shoulders. He was breathing heavily, but the grin never left his face.

“Nice catch,” he said. 

“Way to go, ace!” 

“You did it!” 

“One more inning!” 

Back at the dugout, Akaashi removed his catcher’s gear. His heart was still pounding from catching the throw. He grabbed a paper cup, filling it with water, and bringing it to the back where Bokuto sat with the towel over his head. 

“Did you see that, Akaashi?” Bokuto accepted the paper cup. 

“I saw it.”

“Really cool, right?”

“Very cool. Drink slowly.” Bokuto sipped at the water, and leaned on Akaashi’s shoulder. He still looked tired, even if his pitches didn’t show it. The situation was better than Akaashi expected. In the next inning, Nekoma would have to be wary of Bokuto’s changeups again. Konoha was their only other pitcher, but sticking with the ace until the end was always the better option. 

“It’ll make you hotter if you lean on me.”

“It won’t,” Bokuto mumbled. “Hey, Akaashi. I think I figured out what makes an ace.” 

Akaashi considered it. The fielders who cheered up at Bokuto’s determination. The homerun against the impenetrable knuckleball. The perfect changeups and breaking balls on Bokuto’s tired grip. 

“And what would that be,” Akaashi said, playing along. 

“I think the ace gets the ace number on his uniform.” Bokuto nodded to himself. Akaashi sighed, ruffling the towel over Bokuto’s head. 

“All right, ace,” Akaashi said. “Show me more after you take me to Koshien.”


End file.
